


mir immer noch das Herz versengt

by moon_waves



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, Herzeleid Era, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, light fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22118677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_waves/pseuds/moon_waves
Summary: “You shouldn’t it get to you.”“He isn’t wrong, though.”“He is.”
Relationships: Paul Landers/Oliver Riedel
Comments: 16
Kudos: 42
Collections: drops of ink, sechs Herzen





	mir immer noch das Herz versengt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chachamaruchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chachamaruchan/gifts).



> Kicking off the new year with some angst because why the hell not?
> 
> Written for the angst/fluff prompt n°52: “I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”  
> Cha, I hope you'll like it ❤️

“You shouldn’t it get to you.”

“He isn’t wrong, though.”

“He is.”

Silence.

“Ollie.”

Silence.

“ _Ollie_.”

Ollie remained silent, lying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling without seeing it. He felt hollow inside, strangely disconnected from the conversation – if one could call it a conversation, when one of participants was keeping it afloat and the other was barely saying anything.

The bed dipped slightly as his interlocutor moved closer to him, the sound of clothes shifting on his sheets strangely loud in the otherwise room. He could hear the busy life outside his windows, cars and birds and the familiar sounds of the city bustling in the street. In comparison, his flat was eerily silent, without even a record playing on his stereo.

“That guy was just trying to get to you,” the voice said as a hand landed on his stomach, drawing circles in what was supposed to be an attempt at comfort. “You’re not going to let him have the upper hand, are you?”

Ollie remained silent, staring at the fissures on his ceiling – would he have to repaint it, or was it a problem coming from the building itself? He wasn’t particularly eager to get woken up in the middle of the night if part of the drywall fell down on his face…

“Ollie.”

Paul’s face appeared right in front of his eyes, blocking his view from the ceiling. His hair was mussed as if he had just woken up – which was possible, Ollie didn’t know what he had been doing during the night before barging unannounced in his flat in the wee hours of the morning.

(The wee hours of the _musician morning_ , which was closer to the end of the morning for a regular person.)

His shirt looked familiar, though.

“Are you listening to me?”

He poked at Ollie’s chest with one determined finger, half-lying on his side and half-lying against Ollie, their legs mingling together.

“I’m listening,” Ollie mumbled, looking over his head to keep staring at the ceiling.

His eyes were dry and he felt so empty.

Tired, _past_ tired even – but he hadn’t been able to sleep at all that night, words turning and turning in his mind, poking at insecurities that had been growing over the past few months.

“That guy was a jealous piece of crap only interested in stirring shit up,” Paul went on, moving until he was once again blocking Ollie’s view. “Why do you even believe what he said?”

Ollie remained silent, intent on not saying any more on the topic.

“Do you really think so little of us?”

His voice sounded hurt all of a sudden and it snatched Ollie’s attention, forcing him to tear away his gaze from ceiling to stare at the guitarist half-lying on top of him, a vexed expression on his face.

“What? No! Of course not,” he said, voice quieting down on the last words.

“You’re not acting like it,” Paul pointed out, poking at his chest again. “Come on Ollie, we’re in this band together – hey, you’re one of the founding members, you know that.”

“Scholle’s the founding member,” Ollie pointed out in a low voice before looking by the window. “That project is his baby.”

“Yeah, well, he asked you and Doom to join first,” Paul impatiently pointed out before moving position until he was sitting on top of Ollie’s lap. “Before Till. _You_.”

“And Doom,” Ollie added quietly before turning his attention back onto Paul. “You can’t really have a rock band without a drummer, you know.”

“You can’t have a rock band without a bassist either,” Paul retorted, crossing his arms in front of him.

Ollie sighed and stared at him. Paul looked particularly grumpy – and rather upset, if he was being honest – at the way Ollie was shooting down each of his arguments, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

It was nice knowing someone cared, though – it did warm up something in the cold hole that had grown inside of him.

“Maybe he should have picked someone else,” he mumbled before yelping as Paul pinched his hip rather forcefully, then launching himself on him, flattening him onto the bed. “Paul! You’re crushing me! Get off me!”

“Not until you admit that _douche_ was completely wrong,” Paul retorted, finger tapping against his chest once more, “about you, and about us as well. Rammstein would not be Rammstein without _you_ as the bassist, and none of us would have it any other way.”

He frowned a little, briefly looking away before focusing on Ollie again, the intensity of his gaze making the bassist squirm uncomfortably – all while trying not to bump into Paul’s crotch, because _his_ current state was bound to worsen the situation, he was sure of it.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Paul added more quietly. “And I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. You know that, right?”

Ollie swallowed around the lump in his throat before looking away, suddenly unable to hold Paul’s gaze any longer, something twisting at the bottom of his stomach.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, wondering if the heat at the tip of his ears was real or just a figment of his imagination.

With his luck, it was real, Paul would notice, add two and two together – mostly the way his briefs were getting a little too constricted under his sweatpants – and get out of his bed.

And of his life as well, because why would he want to stay in the same band? And Scholle was going to kill him if he was the reason for their rhythm guitarist to leave, and –

“Hey.”

One hand suddenly grabbed him by the neck and forced him to turn his head until he was looking at Paul again – for a brief moment, before he raised his eyes to the ceiling again, although not quickly enough that he hadn’t noticed the confused look on the guitarist’s face.

“What’s the matter with you?” Paul asked quietly, a gentler undertone to his voice. “It’s not just about what that guy said, right?”

Ollie stayed silent, swallowing with difficulty, forcing himself to stare at the cracks on the ceiling. If he didn’t look at Paul, then he could keep it together – he could keep his secret to himself, and then –

then –

Paul sighed.

“I’m not going to repeat to the guys that you think that piece of crap was right,” he said slowly, hand still on Ollie’s neck, one finger brushing against his skin intermittently, “but I _am_ going to tell Scholle you think he made a wrong decision when he picked you for the band.”

Ollie turned to look at him, a vaguely horrified expression on his face.

“Please don’t.”

“And in Till’s earshot,” Paul added without mercy, having apparently decided that the situation required desperate measures – namely the fact that no one in the band could resist Till’s sad _sad_ eyes when something upset him.

“Paul, _don’t_ ,” Ollie said urgently, moving his arms from being his head until he was resting on his forearms, one hand held in the air to stop Paul from falling over at his sudden change of position. “You know how Scholle reacts when someone criticizes the line-up of the band –”

“Yeah, I know! And he’s going to like it even less when it comes from someone _from_ the band,” Paul said, still without mercy, a frown on his face. “Rightfully so!”

“He is going to _kill me_. And Flake will help him bury my body.”

Paul pouted, shifting on his lap, and Ollie couldn’t believe his eyes: arms crossed, hair muffled, shirt falling slightly from one of his shoulders – and it was definitely one of _his_ shirts – with a goddam _pout_ on his face.

Oh, he was so screwed.

“So when _I_ tell you that _I_ think you’re a vital part of the band, it just… flies right over your head, but I bring _Richard_ into the mix and suddenly you’re panicking?”

He laughed, a short, bitter sound, before mumbling under his breath something that suspiciously sounded like _“talk about misreading the situation”_ , but Ollie tried not to get his hopes up.

“I really don’t want to deal with Scholle right now, that’s all,” he said in a pacifying tone.

Or what was supposed to be a pacifying tone, which didn’t seem to be working very well given the expression still present on Paul’s face.

“And I don’t want to bring Till into that either,” he added in a quiet voice, tentatively moving his still-hovering hand back onto the sheets for better equilibrium. “That’s not – it’s the last thing the guys need right now.”

Paul stared at him for a few seconds before his pout slowly morphed into a thoughtful expression. He moved down a little on Ollie’s legs, lessening the strain of his position, something for which the bassist was grateful.

“Okay,” he said slowly after a moment of thinking. “I’m not telling them –”

“Thank _you_.”

“– but I’m telling Doom then.”

“Paul, no!”

_“Yes.”_

A finger came poking at his chest and Ollie impatiently swatted it away, barely noticing he was moving away from his lethargic state.

Something flickered on Paul’s face at his gesture before a frown came back.

“You think that douche from yesterday was right in saying you don’t belong to Rammstein, and honestly Ollie, it’s a big pile of crap, and I’m _not_ going to keep it to myself. There might be hundreds of bassists out there in Berlin, but none of them would fit as well in the band as you do – and, more important, we don’t want anyone else.”

The finger was still poking at his chest on rhythm with Paul’s words.

“Do you understand me when I tell you that?”

“Yes,” Ollie grumbled before letting himself fall back onto his pillows, hands moving to his face. “I got it, Paul,” he added in a muffled voice.

“So?”

Ollie remained silent for a long time. The finger stopped poking at his chest time after a time, replaced by a hand fully spread out over his solar plexus, not doing anything – just being there, a warm, comforting weight.

“It’s complicated,” he finally said once silence had stretched between them, until it had filled his room up to the ceiling.

“I figured so,” Paul said in a neutral voice, pacified – and yet keeping his hand where it was, something for which Ollie was strangely grateful.

He licked his lips, wondering if this was it – if he was going to just… speak up and finally say out loud what had been on his mind for a long time, bothering him a lot more since they had suddenly met up with fame after the release of _Herzeleid_.

“I was… I’m not…”

He hesitated, and stopped again, sighing loudly before remaining silent. Paul waited a little before bending over him and gently removing his hands from his face. Ollie blinked at the light of day, and then again at the mix of thoughtfulness and tenderness on Paul’s face – that wasn’t something he had ever expected to see directed at _him_.

(He might have dreamed of it, though.)

(Might have.)

“You guys were all in punk bands or in metal bands before Rammstein,” he finally said, looking a little over Paul’s shoulder. “The Inchtabokatables were…”

He sighed.

“A folk band. Before I left, anyway.”

“A folk _punk_ band,” Paul corrected gently before reaching for one of his hands. “And a good one. So what?”

Ollie gestured at the space between them without saying a word.

Paul stared at him, eyebrows raising in a confused expression.

“Ollie?”

Ollie sighed.

“I have no legitimacy being in a metal band,” he finally mumbled before looking away.

“Oh, Ollie…”

He huffed loudly, breath cut short as Paul threw himself at him before hugging him, head tugged close in his neck.

“I can’t believe you some days honestly,” the guitarist said in a sigh, his breath tickling Ollie’s ear. “You’re worse than Flake on that account.”

“He played in a punk band,” Ollie said in a muffled voice, strangely comforted by Paul’s reaction.

He shifted a little until they were both more comfortable for hugging, absent-mindedly tugging a little at Paul’s shirt until the guitarist was back to being half-spread on top of him, their legs mingled together.

“We all have to start somewhere,” Paul finally said after a time, rising a little until he could look at Ollie in the eyes. “You were in a folk band before, yeah, and? We were all aware of that, and frankly, that didn’t stop Scholle from wanting you to join his little pet project.”

He made a little face akin to a pout at his own words and Ollie chucked slightly, feeling part of his bad mood disappear.

“I can’t believe you just called Rammstein a _little pet project_.”

Paul shrugged, unbothered.

“That’s how it started, isn’t it? And it was good enough for Scholle, and it was good enough for Doom, and it was good enough for _you_ ,” and he poked forcefully at Ollie’s chest, “and it was good enough for Till too.”

Ollie sighed again before nodding.

The poking stopped and Paul plopped next to him, splaying his left hand on top of Ollie’s heart.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Ollie mumbled, turning his head slightly so that he could look at Paul.

The guitarist looked really boyish and innocent in the mid-day light that was peering through the window and Ollie stared for a moment too long before remembering what he was doing – and looked away, feeling the tip of his ears blush.

Paul didn’t say anything, just started drawing circles over his shirt with the tip of his fingers – and Ollie looked at his hand with a little fascination, strangely soothed by the contact until he was almost dozing off.

“I didn’t know it was bothering you that much,” Paul finally said after a moment, stopping his circling movement and putting his hand back over Ollie’s heart. “You never said anything.”

“It sounded a little silly,” Ollie admitted, briefly looking by the window before meeting his gaze again, a bit bashful.

Paul’s eyes were soft as he stared at him.

“It’s not silly if it’s bothering you,” he said quietly, blinking.

Ollie’s eyes followed the way his eyelashes moved with rapt attention.

“And I think the guys will want to have a few words with you on that topic.”

“What? Paul, no!”

Paul tutted, and started tapping his fingers against his chest _again_.

Ollie groaned before putting a hand on his face again.

“You can’t tell them.”

“I can, and I will,” Paul said in a tone that accepted no objection. “It’s not going to do us any good if you feel bad or uncertain about your place in the band –”

“It’s not that exactly –”

“– you or anyone else.”

Ollie remained silent before putting his hand away from his face. He looked at Paul with a tired expression, torn between tugging him closer and pushing him off his bed – a feeling he was more than familiar with, since the guitarist had joined Rammstein.

“I don’t think anyone else feels like that in the band,” he finally pointed out, one hand moving of its own volition until it was now playing with Paul’s hair.

“You don’t know Flake,” the guitarist mumbled, fingers tapping against his shirt.

Ollie frowned.

“His keyboards are – how did you put it last time – the pinch of sugar needed to make a good goulash?”

“Yeah.”

Paul shrugged again.

“And you know how Till feels about his writing and his voice –”

“His singing.”

“Yeah, well, both.”

“Jesus Christ,” Ollie muttered before letting out a little huff. “Okay, point taken. I’ll speak up next time we meet.”

“Great,” Paul said with a huge, blinding smile that left Ollie feeling a little disoriented by his sudden change of mood. “Because we’re all absolutely vital to the band, okay? I don’t want you, or anyone else, thinking that it’s not the case –”

Ollie grabbed him by his shirt and kissed him, effectively silencing him. Paul’s lips remained static against his for the time of a heartbeat, leaving him to start thinking he had done the wrong thing, before he started kissing him back, lips warm and soft against his.

Ollie was a bit hesitant after his initial gesture and Paul soon took the lead, kissing him more passionately, wallowing the moan that quickly came out of Ollie’s mouth. He felt a bit self-conscious but for once didn’t let it stop him, letting himself melt under Paul’s mouth.

They kept kissing for a moment that seemed lost in time, Ollie hesitantly moving his free hand to hold onto Paul’s waist as the guitarist was cupping his cheeks with one hand, the other stuck between their two bodies, just over his heart.

Only when they separated did Ollie realize what he had done – and he blushed furiously, looking away for a brief moment before shyly gazing at Paul from under his eyelashes.

 _Mussed_ didn’t even begin to describe his hair, and his cheeks had turned a nice pink, the view worsening Ollie’s blush.

“Well,” he said with a little chuckle, his hand still cupping Ollie’s cheek, “that was something.”

Ollie opened his mouth to speak before closing it and looking away again.

“Not that I’m complaining in the slightest,” Paul went on, moving to briefly kiss the top of his nose. “I’m glad I actually didn’t misread the situation.”

“What?” Ollie said, baffled, nose wrinkling in a way that was adorable, if you asked Paul.

Who looked at him very indulgently before kissing him again, a small smile at the corner of his lips. Ollie kept staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“I noticed the way you looked at me –”

Ollie’s blush deepened but he forced himself to keep looking at Paul, who was smiling contently on top of him.

“– and I thought you were just shy, at first, but I studied you, and I realized you weren’t looking at anyone else that way, so…”

Ollie made a grimace.

“To think I believed I had been discreet,” he said quietly with a pout on his face.

Paul laughed a little before kissing him again, making himself comfortable on top of the bassist.

“I don’t think Scholle and Doom noticed,” he offered with an amused smile.

Ollie huffed, not believing _that_ in the slightest.

“We used to be roommates, Paul. If anyone was bound to notice, it was one of them.”

Paul made a little grimace.

“Well, everybody noticed, then,” he said a little bashfully.

Ollie groaned before moving to kiss him again, losing himself in the moment until he replayed Paul’s words in his mind.

“Wait, hold on a minute, what do you mean _everybody noticed_?” he asked, a little short of breath – for reasons that had nothing to do with nerves this time.

Paul blinked, staring at him for a few seconds with dismay at having been interrupted in his kissing before understanding dawned on him.

“Oh, that! I got a peep-talk. From Flake. And Till. They told me to get my head out of my ass and make a move because you were too shy to do it yourself,” he explained simply before moving down to kiss him.

Ollie huffed a little, rolling his eyes in a way that had Paul chuckling over him.

“That’s rich, coming from Till,” he mumbled before eagerly kissing Paul again, a bit amazed that he got to do it for real.

The guitarist laughed against his lips before pressing him down against the bed.

“Yeah,” he agreed before kissing him a little more passionately. “But now, if we could stop talking about the guys…”

“You’re the one who brought them up,” Ollie mumbled before tugging on Paul’s shirt, forcing him to come a little closer.

All remaining thoughts of their bandmates quickly disappeared, the two of them a lot more focused on one another – and no one else.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story, please consider leaving a comment.


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